


Stitches in Time

by plaidshirtjimkirk



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, blending of past and present, meiji husbands, mibu husbands, past relationship, saito goes on a memory trip, shinsenvember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-28 05:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12598928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: As he and Sano prepare to move, Saito pulls an old chest out from his bedroom closet and what he finds inside sends him on a quiet journey of reflection—with a little help from Sano.





	1. Stitches in Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya~! Many thanks for checking this out! I decided I'd write some things for the [Shinsenvember](http://hakuouki-history.tumblr.com/post/166902889459/introducing-shinsenvember) event...which is something I'm very grateful for existing because more Shinsengumi is always wonderful and desired. I'm not sure how many stories I'll write for this month. Let's find out!
> 
> Each of these chapters are basically stand-alone shorts relevant to the prompt of the day.
> 
> This chapter was written for [Shinsenvember Day 1 — That Pale Blue Haori](http://hakuouki-history.tumblr.com/post/166902889459/introducing-shinsenvember), featuring established Saisa and past Okisai.

**.*Stitches in Time*.**

“Wow~!” An enthusiastic whistle of approval pierced the air from the open bedroom door, followed by a single stark clap. “Okay, okay. Maybe we should move more often, then!”

On his hands and knees and halfway into the small sliding closet, Saito’s head hung at the comment clearly aimed at his current position. Leave it to _him_... Ignoring the provocative remark, he pushed himself into seiza and reached back to the small trunk he’d just finished clearing off. However, when his long calloused fingers made contact with the leather, he paused for a moment of contemplation before running them over the smooth surface and docking at the corners.

It’d been...a long time. This chest had been hidden beneath extra blankets and other forgotten items ever since Saito bought the house years ago; he supposed that if not for the impending move, it would have remained buried and untouched for many more to come. The moment arrived at last however, and there was no reason to delay, so he carefully shimmied the item out onto the tatami. In the background, Sano kicked his slippers off before the doorway, and stepped over the wooden threshold.

“I’m sayin’ though!” His voice was airy and slightly distorted from a long stretch as he made a lazy approach. “Packing everything up is a lot of work! I used to think we didn’t own so much, well...” Arriving at Saito’s side, Sano crashed to his knees, then sat back with leisure and leaned closer, his lashes half-fallen. “I change my mind now. We own a lot of shit.”

“Don’t point your bedroom eyes at me.”

The short laugh which followed echoed in the relative emptiness of the space. “This _is_ the bedroom, though, and I can’t think of anywhere else my eyes would rather be.” A digit pressed to Saito’s shoulder and ran down to his elbow before breaking contact. “Right? _Superintendent_ Fujita. ...That has a real nice ring.”

“Hn.” It was an aloof response to praising his new title, but Sano hadn’t seemed to mind. Filing through a small key ring, Saito found the appropriate one for the brass lock in front of him and inserted it. Through his peripheral version, he could see Sano still suspended in the tilt he’d assumed earlier and his scrutiny dropping to the trunk.

“...What’s ‘at?”

“Family jewels.”

“Eh~?” The response was elongated, starting deep and steadily creeping up in pitch. “You been hidin’ the good stuff from me, old man?”

Saito cocked his head. “That depends on what you consider good. In any case.” He tapped his palms against his thighs and finally looked to Sano. “Those books I left in the study--the ones that need to be handled carefully. I’ll store them inside of this. Make yourself useful and bring them here.”

“Hey now, I’m already _extremely_ useful!” Sano retorted with a soft punch to Saito’s bicep. “This place is practically all boxed up because of me!”

“ _Us_ ,” Saito corrected him, deadpanning. “Self-importance is a germ, Sagara.”

“Ah!” Sano waved once in dismissal and his focus returned to the chest yet to be opened. “Besides! I’m more interested now in what you been keepin’ in this box.” A mischievous grin pulled at the corners of his lips and he prodded, “...Is it your super secret stash of embarrassing shunga? Ne?”

Saito’s brows knitted inward and he scoffed loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous, you idiot.”

“Hey, hey!” Sano sang with a chuckle and slapped his hand jovially on the mat. “Ya never know! All these years, I coulda’ been living with a guy who quietly fancies himself women. Now that’d be somethin’, yeah, Saito?”

If the situation were different, Saito might have rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t felt much like prolonging an exchange of banter at the moment. The truth was that Sano _wouldn’t_ know, and probably could never guess, the real nature of the contents he’d kept locked up for all this time. In fact, Saito wondered what his reaction would be--wondered if even he, himself, was ready to see them again.

The books he’d kept from Edo were likely of increased monetary value, but more importantly, they carried personal relevance to Saito and he wanted to see that they weren’t damaged in transit. Despite that desire, though, it might have been an over-ambitious decision to store them away in this particular trunk for the move.

Whatever the case, it was too late for second-guessing or doubt, now that Sano had become invested; he certainly wouldn’t drop the matter until he found out what was inside. Therefore, without wasting any further thought, Saito turned the key, braced his fingertips upon the lid, and slowly pushed it back.

The humorous mood washed away as quickly as the playful grin Sano wore; his mouth went slack, and again through the corner of the eye, Saito observed his movements.

Sano looked from the items to quickly searching Saito’s face, to returning to the chest once more. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath as a hand raised to his stubble-covered jaw. Idly, he scratched it and promptly exhaled, “...Wow.”

Saito reached inside and carefully withdrew the folded light blue haori from within. He handled it like delicate antique lace, as if he were under the threat that it could fall apart in his grasp at any given moment.

“I, um...” With his voice softening to reflect the atmosphere, Sano allowed his spine to slightly relax. “I wasn’t expecting...” He pursed his lips. “I understand why you had this locked away.”

“Indeed. It’s dangerous, perhaps even reckless to keep in this era,” Saito agreed, placing the garment over his thighs.

“No...” The reply was just above a whisper, accompanied by a furrowed brow. Sano leaned even nearer, but didn’t pull his attention from the haori right away. “That’s not what I mean. This is--it’s important.” His eyes raised then. “It’s part of you.”

“It’s part of the _past_ ,” Saito countered, his tone infinitely more nonchalant than how he really felt about such a statement. Frankly, this item had caused him quite a bit of lasting distress when it was given to him. He’d lost count of how many times he considered disposal, especially after becoming an employee of the Meiji government, but could never bring himself to actually part with it.

Sentimental attachment to physical articles was more burdensome than anything else to Saito; he’d been involved in outlandish cases where people murdered their own over heirlooms and inheritance disputes. But this raiment...it nearly permitted him to comprehend how such idiocy was possible, for keeping it meant something deeper than he cared to, or even could, explain.

With a strong shake of the head, Sano extended his hand but stopped himself before making contact with the fabric. “...Can I?”

A nod of consent was offered before Saito passed the haori over. He watched as Sano unfolded it with unprecedented tenderness and laid it over the tatami, following the presentation with a gentle sweep of his palm to smooth out any ripples.

“That you shared this with me,” Sano started quietly, pausing with a squint as his digits trailed over the unique light color of the material, “I feel really privileged.” He gazed up then and found Saito’s eyes, and just when Saito began to give his own head shake response, he added, “And a little jealous, even.”

That particular word, Saito hadn’t expected and he knew his face showed it. “Jealous?”

“Not in a bad way. It’s just.” Sano paused and his lips twitched. “I would’ve given anything to have kept Taicho’s uniform after...” He trailed off, leaving that thought unfinished for a reason Saito knew much too well. “Instead, y’know, what I have is this.” He motioned toward the red bandana perpetually tied about his head. “Symbolic, but...”

Saito set his lips in a line and swallowed, his chin dipping in another nod. Though the exchange was broken and clumsy, they each had a clear awareness of the other’s feelings; as survivors of the same conflict, there was an unspoken understanding they could share, even when their experiences vastly differed. 

After Sano returned to regarding the haori, silence overcame them for some time; it was a quietude that felt neither comfortable nor awkward, as it stemmed from no one having the inclination to say anything further. Saito resumed his survey of the chest during the lull, and it wasn’t until when Sano suddenly spoke up that he stopped.

“Wait.” Glancing at Saito’s torso, Sano looked back at the garment to compare. “Did this actually fit when you were serving? It seems so small.”

Living with someone for long enough and sharing a healthy relationship with them resulted in trust--and trust warranted honesty; Saito had first learned that during the Bakumatsu, and he felt that having a second chance at such a connection was as auspicious as it had been unlikely. The owner of this haori had touched him in a way he thought impossible for any other...and yet, a decade after, Sano’s rough hands had managed to stitch together a gaping tear in the tapestry of Saito’s soul.

Sano wouldn’t be able to find out even if he fabricated his answer, but Saito felt he owed him more than that.

“It wasn’t mine,” he replied plainly. The details of how it came into possession comprised a story Saito really didn’t desire getting into--preferring, as always, to remain reticent about the things he’d lived through during that turbulent time. In the end, historical accounts were best left to Nagakura. His role was different in the aftermath, for as Shinpachi preserved the Shinsengumi’s memory, it was Saito who let their spirit live through his work for the greater good of the country.

He wouldn’t take Sano for granted, though, and if he was prodded for the specifics, Saito would relent--at least to a certain point.

Sano blinked at that and his lips opened--but he stopped himself before whatever he’d wanted to say could leave his tongue. His mouth closed and he continued studying the haori for a while longer before he looked up again with a smile. “Well.” A sharp inhale through his nose followed. “I better get goin'.”

...It was painfully obvious that Sano had wanted to inquire further, but decided against it for comfort that wasn’t his own. And not for the first time, Saito wondered to himself what he’d done to deserve this individual at his side. Instead of dwelling on it, he simply replied, “Mm. I’ll continue the work here, then.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come along? I mean, Jou-chan said that it’s a going away party for _both_ of us...”

Saito’s lashes fell for a moment and he huffed. “My desire to cavort about with Battousai is about as great as his desire to do the same with me: zero.” He placed a firm pat on Sano’s shoulder and then gave a shove. “Go see your friends, aho. Don’t go wandering off if you’re too drunk tonight.”

“Right, right, you got it, old man!” With another laugh, Sano rose to his feet and allowed himself another stretch. “I’ll see you later.”

Uttering a sound of agreement, Saito reached for the haori and began to fold it as Sano made his way to the entrance--but once he reached it, he paused.

“...Hey. Saito.”

Peering up and over his shoulder, Saito’s gaze fell on him--on the huge kanji emblazoned across his back on shameless display. And maybe taking note of it then, after having seen it tens of thousands of times, was a sign.

Sano’s hand was braced against the door frame and he stared toward his feet in a pensive manner.

“I used to believe that there was no compromise between the past and the present...that I had to choose one or the other.” He raised his chin then and squared his shoulders. “But that’s not true. Like...we are what we are because of our pasts, for better or worse. And for you...” A gentle smile softened the line of Sano’s profile and his fingers curled in. “It’s on the better side, I think. Don’t forget that.” Still without looking back, he tapped the frame. “...Anyway. Later.”

Even if he felt compelled to reply, Saito, for once, hadn’t been sure of what to say. He could count on one hand the amount of times someone rendered him speechless in his life, and to think his own dear idiot had accomplished that...it was a moment as bizarre as it was impressive.

The house had instantly grown too silent and too devoid of life following Sano’s departure. In that wake of quietude, Saito remained stationary for so long that he could’ve blended into the wall like a mural and immortalized himself there.

But after some time, his focus shifted down to Okita’s haori which remained draped over one arm and then back into the open chest. It fixated on the old jug there, still preserved by its original seal.

Perhaps, Saito considered, it was time to change that.

~

The cool air of autumn embraced him as he sat on the back porch with the jug and a sakazuki cup at his side. For fourteen years, Saito had been more sober and less inclined to think about who and what he’d been forced to leave behind. He’d gone from overindulgence to full out avoidance of the bottle, because it reminded him so vividly of Okita’s lips, of the rusty scent of Edo’s bloodshed, of everything that was lost and all that he missed.

But tonight...

He withdrew the cork securing the sake he’d long ago acquired in Kyoto and saved for this occasion--one that, in all honesty, he believed would never actually arrive.

Beneath the hazy glow of a waning crescent moon, as leaves drifted lazily toward the earth from crooked black tree branches, clear liquid spilled into the shallow vessel and Saito picked it up.

He raised the cup toward the glittering stars and let the past visit him as it pleased, while the taste of liquor--both so familiar and alien now--washed over his palate. And as if he were no longer alone...as if the chill no longer existed and the time itself were very different, Saito could almost feel phantom arms wrapping around him from behind.

His lashes fell and he reveled in an embrace that he’d shunned for years.

_Too long, Hajime._

“Indeed,” Saito whispered. “It’s been too long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! <3


	2. He Who Became a Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone defaced the outer wall of Mibudera with a derogatory term. Instead of taking insult, Saito decides he’ll live up to the reputation.
> 
> Written for [Shinsenvember Day 2 — Bakemono](http://hakuouki-history.tumblr.com/post/166902889459/introducing-shinsenvember), featuring established Okisai. There's post-boinking in this chapter, but nothing explicit.

**.*He Who Became a Wolf*.**

It was hard to breathe.

The summer humidity hung stagnant and thick, with not even a hint of the wind’s whisper present to offer relief. Dusk had begun easing its way onto the streets of Kyoto when Saito stepped out to lead patrol, his brow already damp just from donning the intricacies of his uniform.

It was a uniform he had always worn with the utmost pride, but he felt especially empowered by it now after the events of early morning. Defiance was on his mind as he strode over the threshold separating the barracks from public territory and led his squad marching off to the right.

And after several paces, there it was: the source of all recent commotion. _Miburo_.

Three kanji, smeared haphazardly in black ink and blemishing the outer ivory wall. _Miburo_.

The unnecessary further evidence that the Shinsengumi were surrounded by loyalists and loyalist supporters, that their presence was abhorred and unwelcome. An affront, an act of contempt, a message, a label…and above all, an insult.

_Miburo._

Saito inclined his chin as he approached the scribbled indignity, tossing his head with dismissal and sending his long ponytail swaying. Just when it seemed like he would simply ignore it, he abruptly stopped the advance, and behind him, the clamor of stomping feet ceased without question. His arm shot out to his side, the decorated sleeve of his haori gloriously displayed as his pointer finger aimed at the slur.

“The only offense I take to this,” Saito declared loudly without turning to his own, as his statement was made not for allied ears, “is that it wasn’t written in the blood of the Tokugawa opposition.”

His hand cut through the thick air as it dropped, and across his features was a calm smoldering countenance: the only indication necessary to inform any wandering gaze that tonight, crimson would flood the rivers should he be tested.

That he said so much was meaningful on its own; he was a man of few words and fewer speeches. But if the anti-Tokugawa rebellion fancied pinning labels to Saito and all who fell in rank with him, he would personally ensure they were well-earned.

With this unspoken promise, he initiated the squad’s forward drive again. With pride and vigor, they marched through the suffocating unrelenting swelter and beneath the foreshadowing of a ruby sky.

~

It was even harder to breathe.

That it was summer certainly still had _something_ to do with it, but the literal weight on Saito’s chest served as the most prominent reason now. Through parted lips he panted, a forearm recently tossed over his eyes and his heart pounding a frantic cadence against its ribbed prison.

Saito’s skin was painted in heat and sweat, both of which were amplified by the ragged breaths Okita spilled over the juncture of his neck and shoulder. They lay entwined in an embrace as sluggish as their minds were, neither keen on moving despite the discomfort far off in the background of their thoughts.

Time lagged, the entirety of the world progressing as it willed outside both sets of closed shoji doors. Within them, however, it wasn’t until Saito felt Okita sliding off and to the side with a groan when he came back to reality.

“I think,” Okita began, his voice still airy from the deep breathing of recovery, “we need to bathe again.”

Saito huffed, amused at the prospect and its truth. He would readily steep himself for another soak, but the down side to such an idea meant washing Okita’s scent away. That, he could withstand to put off for just a little longer.

“Speaking of which.” Okita turned on his side, supporting his head with a hand against his damp hair. The tip of his pointer finger pressed to Saito’s arm and traced a line down and back up, repeating the gentle stroking motion without fail. “You never _did_ tell me what happened on your patrol tonight. You just came in here after the bath and…”

Yes, he definitely _had_ done what Okita left unspoken. Those were more undeniable facts, and Saito acknowledged them by simply raising his brows long enough to cant his head.

It wasn’t uncommon for squads to return colored in the blood of their opponents when a conflict broke out, but even Saito could admit that the state in which he led his men back tonight was…a bit extreme.

His uniform had been wrecked beyond repair, the brilliant light blue stained by blotches and streaks of Choshu rot. His hair was sticky and matted, parts of his face smeared with crimson. And upon his return, Saito had calmly issued a brief report to Hijikata as if there were nothing out of the ordinary, and then strode off to clean himself.

“So?” Okita prodded at the lack of audible reply, his digits splaying out and encircling Saito’s arm to give a soft tug.

Saito narrowed his eyes at the ceiling and finally turned to him. After slowly propping himself up on a forearm, he reached over and brushed through Okita’s bangs. “Nothing of great importance,” he replied plainly, knowing the extent to which this non-answer would irritate.

All it took was a quick shift in expression for Okita to convey the depth of his predicted disapproval, something which Saito found more amusing than he let on.

Exhaling through his nose, Saito’s mouth twitched at the corners and he placed his palm on the bedding between their chests. “They call us Miburo, degenerates.” His attention wandered up and off to nothing specific. “ _Wolves_.” A thoughtful pause followed before his tongue poked out to wet his lips and he returned his gaze to Okita. “But do they ever stop to look at themselves?”

“Ah, justification for insult! I see now!” The wide smile that pulled at Okita’s cheeks made his eyes narrow and he shut them while nodding. “Worldly punishment meets divine punishment. How impressive, Saito-san!”

Satisfaction bloomed within Saito; _of course_ , Okita would understand.

Opposing the Tokugawa government was a dream that only an uncultured moron would support; simply expelling the foreign presence here wasn’t enough–not while western expansion and influence spread like disease through neighboring nations. The need to learn as much as possible, strengthen this great country like never before, and then use their enemies’ own know-how against them was as obvious as the distinctions between day and night.

The pro-Tokugawa faction’s head and feet remained on the ground with this rationale, while its adversaries’ dawdled in some other fantasy realm, floating about the clouds of idiocy; worldly logic versus divine delusion, indeed.

Veering his focus, Saito peered thoughtfully down through his lashes. “They think their words sting,” he said in a quiet tone, “but they don’t. Not me, anyway.” His brows pulled inward then as he sought out Okita’s face once more. “Instead, they inspire. If they believe that becoming a wolf is distasteful, then a wolf is what I’ll become.”

Okita seemed content to just watch with a hint of amusement across his features, but he eventually reached out and covered Saito’s hand with his own. “You know, Hajime, everyone else I talk to thinks the things they call us are dishonorable.” A nod. “And they are, without doubt. Injured pride is worthy of anger and retribution. But…” There was a pause as his fingers traced across Saito’s knuckles before folding inward and taking hold. “I like how you think better.”

The corners of Saito’s mouth eased upward in the slightest and he regarded Okita with a depth of emotion he would never grant another.

War was an awful pathogen, capable of transforming good men into monsters. But on the other side of the coin, the Bakumatsu had been what landed Okita in Saito’s embrace, and if spilling some loyalist blood was the price for that along with ultimate victory, well…

He’d gladly bear the name Miburo for the rest of his life, gladly be the greatest degenerate his enemies ever faced, and yes, Saito would gladly shift from man to wolf in a split second if that’s what it took.

Okita breathed sharply out of his nose, clearly picking up on Saito’s pensive state. His grin never left as he whispered, “What are you thinking now?”

Saito’s eyes closed. He simply shook his head before his lashes parted again and he pressed a kiss to Okita’s lips–much tamer than earlier but no less rife with feeling. Souji would just have to figure it out on his own if he really wanted to know.

“That’s a secret,” Saito finally said when he drew back and gave Okita’s chin a gentle nudge, “from one Miburo to another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for reading!! <3
> 
> A couple notes:  
> \- My inspiration for this was in how freely Saito called himself a wolf of Mibu in RK. I found it frickin awesome that he claimed something meant as a slur and lived up to it. 200000/10 character, a national Japanese treasure.  
> \- I was hella harsh on the loyalists in this story, but in writing from a Shinsengumi point of view, I couldn’t see doing it any other way. Apologies if you’re a fan of them and found it offensive.  
> \- Wolves aren’t traditionally thought of as bakemono (if my memory serves me correct), but this is what the prompt made me think about, so I just went with it.


	3. Room Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saito chose his sense of duty over affection a long time ago but finds out that sometimes, people really can have it all if they’re lucky enough.
> 
> Written for [Shinsenvember Day 3 — Swords](http://hakuouki-history.tumblr.com/post/166902889459/introducing-shinsenvember), featuring established Saisa.

**.*Room Enough*.**

The study was a quaint room mirroring its owner’s personality, with a tiered wooden desk and shelves home to countless books on swordsmanship and history. Light and shadow swept across the space in a duel of contrast from paired candles glowing behind their rice paper shrouds; one sat atop the desk, at which Saito had planted himself hours ago, and the other upon the floor, within close proximity to a strangely reticent Sano.

—or perhaps, his silence wasn’t so mysterious, after all. Perhaps, Sano had finally learned the futility of questioning _how much longer_ with the lips, and instead decided on employing a different interrogation tactic.

He asked through eye contact, by thoughtfully regarding Saito from the upside-down point of view he’d assumed after returning from drinking with Katsu and flopping supine on the tatami. In his peripheral vision, Saito observed Sano’s hands clasped loosely over the wraps about his abdomen, rising and falling with calm breaths as a bare foot rocked lazily from side to side.

It was a new record, this twenty odd minutes of peace, and yet Saito found his mind fabricating the sound of Sano’s thoughts to compensate for its absence.

_Ahh, when, when, when?! When are ya gonna stop fondling that boring ass report and start putting those hands to better use?_

With a twitch of his mouth, Saito responded to the unspoken inquiry by flipping to the next page. It was a thick, heavy document he’d been perusing, filled with details related to the latest Yakuza opium ring placed under his investigation. And while Saito could agree that combing through these specifics hadn’t been the most desirable manner to spend his night following a full day on the same grind, duty was duty and deadlines were deadlines.

It took his turning to the page thereafter for Sano’s unprecedented record to come to an end, but what he finally said wasn’t what Saito had anticipated.

“Y’know, you have a lot of books.”

Strange a comment as it was, Saito was quick with his reply. “And you have a penchant for stating the obvious.”

“Aw, c’mon.” With a grunt, Sano rolled onto his stomach and pushed to his feet, dragging them in a sloppy stroll toward the shelving units. Saito kept his attention trained to his task, paying no mind to the idling about behind him.

“The Art of the Blade,” Sano mumbled. “The Winning Approach to War, A Historical Guide to Sword Technique, The Siege of Osaka…”

“I’m aware of what books I own, thank you,” Saito announced.

“You really love swords.”

“They have their uses.”

“Yeah, my shoulder would know.” There was a pause. “…So, did you actually read _all_ of these?”

“No, I just enjoy the responsibility of dusting them.”

He heard Sano snort. “Hey, hey! Just wonderin’, old man. No need to get all testy over there. And since we’re on the subject of questions…” _Ah, there it was…_ “It’s enough now, yeah? I mean, you _do_ have better things to do.”

There was no move made to divert from his business, but Saito’s voice took on a trace of amusement. “So, you’re referring to yourself as a thing now.”

Sano chuckled. “Well…whatever it takes, I guess…” He returned to reading titles aloud.

Still facing the desk, Saito closed his eyes and permitted the corners of his mouth to nudge upward as he barely shook his head. _Aho_.

When his lashes parted to the report again, his attention had been effectively derailed; the hour neared midnight and this point was an appropriate place to stop anyway. Though, as Saito continued to gaze at the lines of kanji without reading them, he considered not for the first time how he’d wound up having someone around to suggest when enough work was enough.

It was a conundrum. In the decade spent mostly living alone after the war, Saito had learned to embrace solitude. Having no attachments allowed him to concentrate on how he, a surviving Shinsengumi in the Meiji, could most effectively exist in modern times while carrying the legacy of the ones who couldn’t.

Those two tasks were all Saito had left at the dawning of the new age. Everything else was stripped away with the Tokugawa regime’s defeat. But while the Imperialists could take the government and build their future on the ashes of the dead, they _couldn’t_ destroy the moral code Saito had vowed to protect as one of the last wolves of Mibu. It was his duty, in place of all those who had been left behind. With this as his motivation, he’d thrust himself into the offices of his former enemies and like a fine-tuned machine, acclimated, fixated, and excelled.

Isolation was an interesting concept following life in the barracks, where one seldom had privacy for long, but it was neither as detrimental nor unfavorable as society liked to present. Seclusion offered its own benefits, after all, and never left Saito particularly bereft of anything. Feeling wanted, by contrast, _was_ agreeable…but it had to be the _right_ one doing the wanting, lest it all was wasted effort.

Of course, he missed that. But in his opinion, a casual relationship with just anyone equated only to loss in time and exertion, and more complication than it was worth. By the conclusion of the war, ‘right’ had a definite shape for Saito; it was the void at his side—an expanse once filled by someone who could never be replaced, so he hadn’t tried.

As a lone soldier armed with _Aku Soku Zan_ and the oath to persevere for the honor of the Shinsengumi, Saito had taken on corruption in the Meiji for a decade with no regret or distraction. He wished for nothing more, harbored no desire for change. The sword at his side, and everything it represented of the past, was all the companionship he’d needed.

There was one morning Saito could recall in particular detail, when he’d risen even earlier than usual and stood in the backyard, lit cigarette in hand while gold spilled across the horizon. With tobacco as his only company, he’d mused that he was content to spend the rest of his life sleeping next to the presence of his blade alone. By then, the gears of the great scheme to end Shishio had finally begun moving and while the assignment made no guarantee for his safety, Saito hadn’t been bothered by accepting it. He was unfazed by having no one concerned for his wellbeing or waiting for his valiant return.

It was better that way, staying detached.

Ironically, these thoughts came exactly one week before Sano appeared in his life…or, correctly, before Saito appeared in Sano’s, as he sat pissed off and hungry on the Kamiya Dojo porch. In either case, one ambiguous introduction which shouldn’t have meant anything hurled the universe as both had known it upside down in the blink of a fake pharmacist’s narrow eye.

Somehow, their violent initial meeting sparked a chain reaction of exchanges which grew in exponential significance each time, and the unfillable emptiness beside Saito began to resume a tangible shape, sculpted by the marred hands of a fighter. How affinity could grow from insult was a mystery.

But that mystery went from a passing thought to something infinitely annoying. It’d taken Saito’s vision of the future and shifted it from lucid to obscure—a pretty picture of comfortable solitude and familiarity turned into an indiscernible blur because suddenly, the futon felt cold and the bedroom too empty.

That had distressed as much as it vexed him. However, with each encounter after these new thoughts began intruding on his previously made-up mind…with each time Sano smiled that ridiculous smile or playfully punched Saito’s shoulder or exploded into an infuriated outburst, vagueness started to take on clarity once more.

Eventually, an updated portrait of the days to come replaced the old one, phasing from “ _how could I ever live with someone else when my sword is all I need?_ ” to “ _living without either is undesirable._ ” And those changes were reflected in the present state of things.

There were two futons in the bedroom now, a once-quiet house filled with noise from a rambunctious, lively man sporting unruly hair. It was the same man who poked at and tested Saito constantly, who started hanging around for free meals but stayed for other reasons, who cared enough to speak up when Saito was working too hard or not eating enough, who fell asleep every night with his forehead pressed to Saito’s back.

It was easy to trivialize the more profound emotional reasons of why they’d not only gravitated together but remained that way. However, at the end of the day, their relationship came down to plain, simple logic: Sano supplied what had been missing in Saito and vice versa, each filling a void that the other hadn’t even realized existed.

Talking out feelings wasn’t a strong point for either of them, and Saito was a firm believer that not everything in need of being said had to be spoken out loud. He treasured Sano in other ways—his own ways—relying on just enough carefully chosen action to say the things his lips wouldn’t.

He decided now was time for some communication.

With that, Saito marked the current page and flipped the ample report closed. He procured the pack of smokes from his breast pocket, taking one stick between his lips before reaching for his matches. Leaning toward the flame, he inhaled to light up and at last swung his legs out to the side as he turned to Sano.

“Twenty minutes of silence while I’m working is unprecedented,” Saito remarked, pulling the cigarette away to observe the accumulating parch behind a burning orange stripe. Sano looked over his shoulder then and their eyes met. “To what circumstance do I owe gratitude?”

Sano opened his mouth only to close it right after, choosing instead to shrug and pivot on his heels. “Nothin’. No reason, really. Just didn’t feel like competing for your attention for once…but you saw how long _that_ lasted.”

At that, Saito barely squinted but remained silent, opting to simply watch while Sano kept his hands in his pockets and resumed strolling across the expansive selection of reading material.

He continued the browsing until he reached end of the shelves and finally turned with a grin. “So? Are you done choosin’ your work over me tonight? …or maybe you’ll be spending quality time with your sword next? Now _that_ I know I can’t compete with.”

“Cht.” Saito shifted and flicked the ashes into a circular tray before putting the flame out. “What a dramatic statement.”

“Well, what can I say?!” Hands raised out at Sano’s sides and he struck a pose without ever losing the large smile he wore. “Look who you’re talking to!”

Saito huffed and crushed the cigarette once more for good measure, wrenching it into the ash pile. “Indeed.” He stood and pushed the chair in, making his approach with his chin raised and attention fixed on Sano through rims of dark lashes. “In any case, I do believe you were trying to con me into going to bed with you.”

“Oh, _that’s_ what we’re calling it now?” The moment he arrived within reach, Sano leaned forward and locked his hands behind Saito’s neck while beginning a gentle sway. Saito caught Sano’s forearms, his gloved digits pressing gently but making no move to draw him closer.

“I mean, _conning_?” Sano echoed, feigning incredulity in his tone as his fingers just as quickly untangled from each other and slid over Saito’s shoulders. He finally stepped up to eliminate the small distance between their chests and started undoing buttons.

With his brows pulling inward, he cupped Sano’s hands to stop their progress of unbuttoning his jacket and Saito’s mouth parted in a low and sultry growl. “If the shoe fits, aho…”

A soft, mischievous smirk was all he saw before Sano surged forward and lips pressed against his own, opening and making way for their tongues to meet. Flipping his palms, Sano laced his fingers with Saito’s as the kiss deepened and pulled their intertwined hands down and back. He guided Saito’s to where his trousers met the dip in his spine—an invitation to touch.

The kiss turned ravenous and they stumbled toward the hallway, only breaking apart when Sano’s shoulders hit against the wall. Heaving for air, he turned his head to the side, exposing a beautiful length of his neck for Saito’s mouth to wander over, and then rasped, “Bed.” Sano took large fistfuls of the blue jacket and tugged firmly while lifting his face.

Their noses touched, breathing each other’s breath.

Saito didn’t make him demand twice. When they entered the bedroom, he unattached his sword and tossed it aside.

~

Living through war was synonymous with being a light sleeper; therefore, it came as no surprise to Saito when consciousness found him in the middle of the night from Sano moving closer. He felt a hand press to his back and pull on his undershirt—an unconscious movement, apparently, as Sano’s breathing remained soft and constant.

Directly in front of Saito rested his blade in the place it always was, within immediate reach and right next to the futon. For several moments, he regarded how it was illuminated by the pale light of the moon permeating the window shade: a sight he’d grown accustomed to awakening to for years upon years, even after he’d begun sleeping between both partners.

Facing his sword was something done out of habit and there’d been nothing to suggest that behavior should change…but tonight seemed like an opportune time to switch things up.

He reached back to free his shirt from the light grasp it was taken in, and quietly turned so not to create disturbance. Fingertips gently brushed bangs away from Sano’s closed eyes before Saito slid in a little further to erase the space between them. He carefully wrapped an arm around Sano to keep him near.

Saito studied the placid expression now aimed at him. What Sano had said before about choosing the sword over him was intended as a humorous remark, but it had Saito consciously recognizing something he’d known for a long time now: there was really no contest at all.

He’d spent so long devoted to his work and the promises he’d made to the past, thinking there couldn’t possibly be enough space for anything or anyone else. After all, he’d seen it with his own eyes at the station; too many had found themselves suddenly trapped by relationships, with their partners demanding drastic changes to suit their own selfish needs without compromise.

It was something Saito couldn’t commiserate with, as his dedication was something that had never been up for debate and nor would it ever be.

But right from the start, Sano knew what that commitment to his work meant, knew of the long hours and necessity for time spent away on cases that required travel. Still, he’d never asked for more than what could be given, and even though Saito believed Sano _did_ have the right to feel at least somewhat unsatisfied because of those conditions, he still saw contentment on his face as he slept. Just like now.

Saito’s lips softly eased upward. He nosed Sano’s forehead, then closed his eyes.

It wasn’t something he’d ever admit out loud, but he was grateful to have been proven wrong. Indeed, there was room enough…for Sano, for his work, for his past, for _everything_ —an interesting way of putting it, as Saito’s heart had never felt more full.

From that night on, he fell asleep with his back to his sword, as he came to learn it was far more favorable to wake up to Sano’s face instead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for reading! <3


	4. To Your Health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eating pork is healthy–or something like that.
> 
> Written for [Shinsenvember Day 4 — Pigs and Pork](http://hakuouki-history.tumblr.com/post/166902889459/introducing-shinsenvember), featuring established Okisai and established Saisa.

**.*To Your Health*.**

It was the perfect summer evening to smoke.

The outer shoji had been slid aside and Saito sat dead center before the open doors, staring thoughtfully into the garden speckled by firefly gold. Cricket song filled the air, joined by the intermittent baritone croaking of frogs perched about the central pond–and then, distant groaning of floorboards from the inner hallway growing ever louder.

Uncommon, the tiny smile that pulled at the corners of Saito’s mouth on hearing those particular footsteps, and with that, he exhaled a plume of white smoke.

The kiseru pipe was held between his pointer finger and thumb just before the tip, with the rest of the long thin shaft supported by his upward-facing palm. He lowered his hand and waited for the very much desired company to arrive outside his door.

“Saito-san,” a muffled voice called out from the other side.

“Come.”

Pivoting on his knees, Saito turned as Okita entered looking incredibly pleased with himself. In his clutches were a small plate and pair of chopsticks, which he held steadily as he slid the shoji shut again with his foot. “I have something for you, Hajime!”

“Oh?” His curiosity piqued, Saito watched as Okita neared with the dish; from this angle, he couldn’t tell what it held but if it was some form of sustenance, then he was sure it would delight his palate. Okita shared similar tastes with him when it came to food, and sometimes he would visit in the evening with a delicious helping of daifuku or manju.

“Mm.” Okita made no move to sit when his bare feet came to a halt before Saito. “Did you hear what Matsumoto-sensei said today about the state of our health?”

Saito cocked his head and pursed his lips. “The decidedly _miserable_ state of our health, you mean?”

Okita’s eyes closed momentarily and his grin widened. “Well, yes, that too.” There was an innocence about him when his lashes parted again, something Saito had always found droll; he _was_ the formidable captain of the first squad, after all, and the one who posed the greatest personal challenge when sparring. “I was referring more to the suggested solution, though.”

With that, Okita lowered gracefully to seiza and on the plate–

Saito’s expression of interest shifted into a deadpan when his scrutiny merely fixated on the trio of small strips lined up neatly; they were mostly two-toned, with some parts off-white and others charred from the cooking process. “Pork,” he stated indifferently.

“Kondo-san was awfully irritated by Matsumoto-sensei’s lecturing this afternoon,” Okita said with a tiny laugh. “So much that Yamanami-san took matters into his own hands and went out to arrange for the purchase of a pig.”

Taking a lengthy draw on his pipe, Saito exhaled slowly while listening and then huffed with amusement. Yamanami was the intellectual gift that kept on giving; he was well educated, level-headed, and book smart–attributes which were both a contrast and complement to Hijikata’s own practical experience. That variation was what balanced out the top of their organization beautifully and kept them successful.

Saito could clearly see how that situation had unfolded, too: Kondo and Hijikata simmering together over the medical report (Matsumoto _had_ been needlessly belligerent and insulting when presenting his findings), while Yamanami simply cut directly to the resolution.

“He returned toward the end of dinnertime,” Okita continued, placing the dish down and resting the chopsticks across it. “It was a few minutes after you took your leave, actually. The rest of us were about ready to be off ourselves, but Yamanami-san told us to stay put for a little bit longer. And the next thing we knew…“

“You were all eating pork,” Saito supplied.

Okita’s chin dipped in a nod. “Seems he was able to secure some of it for tonight’s dinner along with his other arrangement.” Shrugging, he raised his palms at shoulder length. “Who knows how much he paid, but that’s none of our concern. Anyway, have you ever tried it?”

“Cht. What do you take me for, Okita-kun?” Saito lifted his face and with a turn, cast his gaze off to the side. “I have no interest in smelling like a pig.”

The laugh that followed brought Saito’s attention back as Okita grabbed his belly and tipped forward. “Ahaha! Oh, Hajime!” When he straightened his spine again, he gave his head an animated shake that sent the short ponytail he wore into a graceful swish. “That’s not even true! Don’t tell me you really believe that nonsense. I mean, _I_ ate it tonight.” His lashes fell a little and he leaned in while craning his neck, his voice low when he inquired, “How do you think I smell?”

A soft warmth burned within Saito’s eyes. He set his kiseru against the ash collector and slowly neared, fingertips bracing against the tatami while bringing his nose close to Okita’s jaw. Saito sniffled. “Hn…” And sniffled again.

Okita stiffened a bit, the slight displacement of air clearly tickling against his sensitive skin and he asked at a louder volume, “…So?”

Saito’s lips trailed along his cheek and up toward his ear, into which he whispered after a dramatic pause, “…You smell like an American.”

A hand clapped gently against Saito’s cheek and Okita shoved him back at the shoulders. “Don’t be rude!” Letting his lashes fall, Okita tossed his face to the side and his palms landed heavy on his thighs.

Unable to stop the chuckle from leaving his throat, Saito immediately leaned back over. “I apologize, Souji.” He reached for Okita’s chin and coaxed it back so they could meet each other’s gazes; annoyance was clear and present across the way. “I’m _sorry_ ,” Saito repeated genuinely, and then pressed their lips together with a gentleness that betrayed how they usually approached the act.

Their eyes remained open during the chaste kiss and once Saito saw the irritation aimed at him beginning to fade, he began to draw back. Their mouths were still touching when he added, “…You taste like one, too.”

“Damn you!” Okita snapped and sent him away with another rough push. “You want to be offensive?! I’ll make you smell and taste like one too, then!” And with that, he picked a strip of pork up with the chopsticks. “Open up!”

Saito laughed softly as the morsel was shoved in his direction and he turned away from it. “Nope.”

Sitting taller and dragging his knees over the tatami to close the space separating them, Okita growled through clenched teeth, “ _Eat it_! Eat it, or I won’t forgive you!”

Regaining his composure, Saito finally stopped dodging and relented. “Now that just won’t do,” he declared, and then opened his lips to receive the bite. He chewed immediately, and could only imagine what crossed his features.

“It’s not that bad,” Okita replied in a nonchalant, dismissive voice.

“It’s not _good_ , either,” Saito grated out after swallowing.

“It’s _healthy_.”

“It’s also _uncivilized_.”

“And yet, you’re going to eat it anyway, Hajime.” Okita was smiling now but his expression darkened when he raised the next strip. “…If you know what’s good for you.”

Saito certainly did.

~

“…Well?”

Saito’s eyes refocused on the chopsticks held in his direction and he snapped back into the present. Around him were the sounds and scents of the Akabeko, and across the table was Sano, extending in his direction a thin piece of beef he’d just finished cooking.

“Do you want this or not?”

With a swallow, Saito looked off to the ashtray at his side and tapped his cigarette against it. “I’ve never been much of a meat-eater.”

“Yeah, well,” Sano started. “No shit. You’re probably the _only_ person who comes in here and orders soba. Anyway, you sure? Meat’s supposed to be healthy or something. I dunno. Honestly, I just eat it ‘cause it tastes good.”

Regarding the portion still held toward him, Saito didn’t immediately reply–but when Sano began to retract the chopsticks, he leaned in and took it.

The flavor was still strange and Saito couldn’t say he necessarily _enjoyed_ it…but the memory of that night with Okita was fresh in his mind with this taste, and for that alone, it was worth enduring.

“Hey, you actually ate it!” Sano said with a laugh. “Wasn’t expecting that.” He looked down to the boiling pot of beef and assorted vegetables before returning his attention to Saito. “…Want some more?”

For once, Saito decided he’d accept the offer willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~! <3


	5. A Strong Suggestion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Stop _fucking_ each other.” – Hijikata Toshizo, probably.  
>  “You and Kondo-san first.” – what everyone immediately thought…probably.
> 
> Written for [Shinsenvember 5 – The Shinsengumi Code](http://hakuouki-history.tumblr.com/post/166902889459/introducing-shinsenvember), featuring...every pairing because everyone is fucking everyone and it’s causing violent love triangles

**.*A Strong Suggestion*.**

Serizawa Kamo was–to put it very lightly–a very large problem and now, after the blessing of the Protector of Kyoto, that problem had been dealt with. But the ever pragmatic Vice Commander Hijikata knew this purge alone hadn’t gone far enough. To prevent a repeat of the same hypocritical and entitled behavior which scarred their reputation, the newly unified Shinsengumi would need a refreshed, stricter governing doctrine.

It was for this reason today that all members sat in formal style on the tatami, arranged in ten neat rows behind their respective captains. From the front of the room, the foreboding figures of command–of Kondo, Hijikata, and Yamanami–loomed over them, and written on a scroll attached to the wall was the new legislation.

“Rule one,” Hijikata announced, his face ever stern and his voice so strong it echoed in the space. "You will never deviate from the code of bushido. Rule two, you will never leave the Shinsengumi. Rule three–”

Kondo and Yamanami remained silent during this time; apparently, it was Hijikata, himself, who’d been behind the creation of this charter and it would be he who presented it in his ever petulant way.

“–you will not engage in the raising of private funds. Rule four, you will not partake in the litigation of others. Rule five, you will not partake in private combat.”

Indeed, these rules were a direct call out to everything Serizawa had ever done in his life, and somewhere, his ghost was throwing an absolute fit for it.

“The penalty for violation is seppuku,” Hijikata seemed to conclude–but then his chin raised regally and his eyes slowly pierced the company from right to left. “And regarding the disturbing amount of private combat as of late, I will offer you one suggestion on how to avoid breaking the last rule. Stop _fucking_ each other.”

…On second thought…Serizawa hadn’t been the only one called out here after all, because suddenly, there was a whole lot of uncomfortable shifting in the room. Even Kondo looked off to the side and coughed.

And as if things couldn’t get any worse, Hijikata continued, “And now, onto the next order of business about rationing sake…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~! <3
> 
> LOLLLL this was supposed to be longer but I don't think I can finish the second part by the end of today. I'll see if I can pick it up again in the future and give this the Okisai ending I wanted. XD


End file.
